


Chicken Soup for the Werewolf-Lover's Soul

by blahrandomblah



Category: Sterek - Fandom, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Cooks, M/M, fluffy!sterek, prompt, sick!stiles, sterek cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 20:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahrandomblah/pseuds/blahrandomblah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is based off of tumblr ficlet prompt: "Sterek sleep cuddles". I embellished a bit, but I hope it suffices! Quite fluffy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Soup for the Werewolf-Lover's Soul

The warmth of Derek’s loft was welcoming as Stiles slid the door back into place behind him. A familiar smell made Stiles’ mouth water even though his stomach was in knots from sickness. He slowly made his way into the kitchen to find his boyfriend stirring a large pot while flipping back and forth between two pages of a cookbook. Stiles couldn’t help but smile.

“You cooked for me?” Stiles asked, astonished.

A sheepish smile threatened Derek’s lips. He dropped his head slightly and shrugged. “You said you had a bad stomach ache. My mom always made me chicken noodle soup when I wasn’t feeling well, and I thought it might be easy on your stomach.” Derek removed the wooden spoon, placing it on a small serving plate he was using to protect the stovetop, and placed a lid on top of the pot.

As Derek hugged Stiles, Stiles allowed all of his weight to collapse into Derek’s strong, capable arms. Stiles kissed him on the shoulder to avoid sharing his germs. “And no one ever believes me when I tell them you’re the sweet one.” Stiles chuckled at his own joke. “It smells delicious.”

“Thank you,” Derek accepted. “Were you able to get an appointment at the doctor’s?”

Stiles shook his head. “Not for today. They can get me in tomorrow morning, though.” Stiles ruffled through his backpack, pulling out a pack of NyQuill Cold and Sinus. “I did pick this up, though.”

“Stiles, NyQuill doesn’t do anything for the stomach flu,” Derek pointed out.

“It’ll help with my congestion, though,” Stiles explained. “Plus, it’ll help me sleep!”

“I’m sorry you feel so crummy,” Derek murmured. He placed a kiss on Stiles’ forehead before breaking their embrace to check on the soup again—Derek was a nervous cook. “You’re the expert, but I think it’s ready if you think you could eat.”

Stiles did a quick inspection of the soup and determined it was in fact ready to be served. He remembered a thing of brown and serve rolls he had bought for dinner a few days ago, but didn’t end up using. He plopped them on a baking tray and tossed them in the oven.

Derek smiled at Stiles. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch and wrap yourself up in a blanket. I’ll bring you a bowl of soup and a roll once they’re done.”

“You never let me eat on your couch,” Stiles said, eyes widening.

“You know, you’ve been staying the night here most nights for the last year,” Derek started. “I think we can call it ‘our’ couch now.”

Stiles hesitated. He and Derek had been dating for 7 months or so—basically since the day Stiles turned 18. At the beginning, Stiles was finishing high school and Derek felt weird having him stay at the loft. Now, it was more unusual for Stiles to stay at home than at Derek’s. Stiles certainly felt like Derek’s was home, but he didn’t want to pressure Derek into thinking the same. They hadn’t told each other “I love you” yet, and Stiles didn’t want to call anything “ours” until that had happened.

“I think I will go sit on ‘the’ couch,” Stiles finally answered.

After a few minutes, Derek walked into the living room area juggling two bowls of soup, a small plate of rolls, and two large glasses of water. Stiles didn’t know how he managed to balance everything so well, but he wrote it off to some odd werewolf agility thing. Who knows? Maybe he had worked as a server before. That thought made Stiles laugh.

Stiles inhaled the smell of the soup deeply, once again causing his taste buds to stir. The first spoonful was warmer than Stiles expected, but it was delicious. The chicken basically fell apart in his mouth, and the carrots and celery were perfectly tender. Whatever spices Derek had used finished the soup perfectly.

“Babe, this is exactly what I needed,” Stiles confessed. 

“You like it, then?” Derek asked. His face was alight with wonder much like a child hoping his parents loved his newest ‘artwork’.

“It’s fantastic,” Stiles praised.

“I’m glad you think so,” Derek replied through a wide smile.

Stiles only managed to down a few spoonfuls before his stomach protested. He placed the bowl on the coffee table and rested his head against the back of the couch. After Derek finished his bowl of soup, he opened up his arms and tilted his head, inviting Stiles to rest against him instead of the couch. Stiles rested his head on Derek’s chest and listened to Derek’s even breathing above him. Derek cradled his arms around Stiles and rested his lips on the top of Stiles’ head.

After they had finished an episode of Supernatural, Stiles stomach really started bothering him. His pain caused him to moan aloud. Derek hated seeing his boyfriend in such pain. Derek placed a hand on Stiles’ abdomen and focused on the illness. Derek tried his best to ease Stiles’ pain, but the traces of black barely made their way to Derek’s elbow.

“You know that doesn’t work on me anymore,” Stiles pointed out. Ever since Stiles had basically died as a sacrifice—in place of his father—the darkness around his heart prevented Derek, Scott, or any of the wolves from easing his pain like they could do for others.

“I just hate seeing you in pain,” Derek whined. “I had to try.”

“I do feel a little better,” Stiles lied.

“Mmmhmmm,” Derek responded, not buying Stiles’ words. “Do you think a warm bath would be more effective?”

“Not really,” Stiles answered honestly. “Do you think we could just go to bed?”

“Whatever you want, bub,” Derek promised.

Derek cleaned up their dinner and started the dishwasher while Stiles took some of the NyQuill. After placing the leftover soup in the fridge, Derek stripped out of his clothes and pulled on some flannel pajama bottoms. Stiles couldn’t help staring at his boyfriend’s perfect backside as he changed. Derek rolled onto his side and let Stiles use his left arm as a pillow. Stiles climbed into bed and rested on his back with his arms at his side; the warmth of Derek’s arm under his neck was comforting. 

Derek placed his hand on Stiles’ stomach again. This time, he rubbed soft, wide circles into Stiles’ skin. The relief was so good that Stiles actually whimpered.

“Is that helping?” Derek asked.

Stiles exhaled slowly. “Mmm,” Stiles hummed contently. Derek knew Stiles wasn’t lying this time.

“Derek, will you tell me a story?” Stiles asked.

Derek leaned over and kissed Stiles’ shoulder. “What kind of story would you like to hear?”

“A story no one else knows,” Stiles answered.

Derek thought long and hard about a story he could share that no one else knew. He didn’t have anything to hide from Stiles, but he had an idea of the kind of story Stiles wanted. Finally, he settled on the perfect story for Stiles.

“You remember a few months ago, when you asked me why—at 25—I still keep a journal?” Derek asked.

“You said it helps you sleep,” Stiles replied.

“It does,” Derek said. Then, he told his story. “Before the fire, my mom always kept a diary. I always thought it was silly for a grown woman to write her thoughts down every night. I asked her about it one night, and she said ‘it helps me sleep’.

About two years ago, I found one of her diaries in the basement of our old house. It was badly charred, but the start of one entry was still visible. ‘Dear Mom,’ it said. A few entries later had the same beginning. So did two others. You see, she had been writing to my Grandma Sarah all of that time. Grandma Sarah had died two years before the fire, and writing to her every night must have helped my mom grieve.

The fire that killed my family took away my ability to sleep peacefully. For years, I was woken by nightmares and memories. After I found my mom’s diary, I thought I would try writing my own journal. It helped, but it wasn’t a perfect solution. I slept better, but not peacefully.”

“You seem to sleep fine now,” Stiles told Derek. “So, it must work better than you think it does.”

“Can I finish?” Derek asked, teasingly. Stiles raised a hand to cover his own mouth. He nodded. “I did finally find something that helps me sleep. I wrote about it one night; would you like to see the entry?”

Something warm swelled within Stiles. Derek was willing to share something from his journal with Stiles. That must mean Derek trusts Stiles even more than he could have guessed. “You’re sure?”

“Perfectly,” Derek answered.

Derek gently removed his arm from under Stiles’ head and grabbed a journal from the bottom of his nightstand. He flipped through a few pages before finding the entry he wanted to show Stiles. Finally, he handed the leather-bound notebook to Stiles.

Stiles read the entry through droopy eyes, noting that it started the same way as Talia Hale’s had.

{Dear Mom,

Last night was incredible. I slept through the night for the first time in years. It’s going to sound silly, but it’s all because of a guy. I’ve told you plenty about Stiles, so you’ll know how long I’ve been waiting to have him here with me. 

Having him wrapped in my arms, protecting him from all the things that could hurt him…I could just do that for the rest of my life. I’ve never been able to express myself well, you know that. I hope he can see how much he means to me. He’s grounded me and helped me move beyond the horrors of my past. I think my nightmares may be gone for good.

I just wanted you to know that I’m happier than I can ever remember. I hope I don’t do anything to screw things up with him.

Miss you,

Derek}

Stiles didn’t notice that a tear had made its way down his cheek until Derek wiped it off with his thumb. “When did say you wrote this?” Stiles asked.

“After the first night you stayed here,” Derek responded.

“And it’s true?” Stiles wondered, eyes threatening to close for the night.

“Whenever you’re here, I don’t have any nightmares. The nights you aren’t here, I still get them sometimes, but they aren’t as vivid,” Derek admitted.

“I’m glad I can help you,” Stiles said.

“Me too,” Derek assured him.

Whether it was the story Derek chose to share with him, or the medicine removing his inhibitions, Stiles said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Derek repeated, kissing Stiles on the forehead.

The medicine definitely took over as Stiles distractedly mumbled, “Our bed is so comfort…”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any prompts you'd like to see turned into ficlets, I'm happy to consider them. 
> 
> thesterekgallery.tumblr.com/ask


End file.
